Just Gotta Dance
by TheNewJefferson
Summary: Molly knew getting Sherlock into American films was a bad idea but only realized it when she came home to a little more than she bargained for


**Collaboration Fic with Benedicted-Cumberbatched on AO3. Seriously check out her stuff if you haven't already, shes's amazing! Anyways, this came from a snap I sent to her about the song in question and this happened. Hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: Seriously, we don't own anything!**

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Molly rushed into 221 B Baker Street as fast her pregnant body would allow. She hadn't heard from him all day. Any other day she wouldn't be concerned, but any other day he would have a case. The criminal classes had decided to behave themselves the past few days, and Sherlock had already solved every email he had received, no matter how trivial and easy it was. So, it barely took him an hour. That was four days ago and since then he had been nagging her as often as he could about every little thing.

She had convinced herself that something terrible had happened. Had he set the kitchen on fire again? Run experiments on Toby again? Had Moriarty somehow come back from the dead? Her mind came up with every possibility but the logical part shot down every situation that she thought up. Someone would have called her if something had happened.

As she mounted the stairs, she noticed music coming from the flat above her. She couldn't quite make it out. Once she reached the top, it had stopped. What was he up to? She pushed the door open, and looked around the cluttered flat. The detective was nowhere to be found.

"Sherlock, Where are you?" She closed the door behind her and hung up her coat. As she made her way to the couch, she absentmindedly rubbed her stomach. Being six months pregnant and still working was getting harder and harder. The desk work was easy enough but her pregnancy hadn't been.

After plopping down on the sofa, she rested her feet on the coffee table. She called out for Sherlock again, but he still wouldn't answer her. Just as she was about to get up to go searching for him, when she heard piano chords coming from the speakers hidden throughout the room. All of a sudden, Sherlock slid out of the hall wearing socks, a white button up shirt halfway buttoned, and white briefs, holding a wooden spoon.

"What in the…" Molly murmured as she stared at her husband. He didn't seem to notice she was there so she sat back, her hands resting on her stomach, watching him. She pressed her lips together, holding back the urge to laugh as he spun around holding the spoon like a microphone.

"_Just take those old records off the shelf,"_ he sang as he went from toe to toe. As the song continued, he pointed out towards his imaginary audience, still unaware of his wife on the couch. Strutting over towards the mantle, he chose Billy the Skull as his muse. He dropped the spoon and grabbed onto the mantle in front of him, shaking his bum as he did so. He turned quickly, grabbing the fire poker, he brought it up and played it like a guitar. He slid down to his knees and Molly was somewhat thankful that he was wearing something underneath that shirt of his. As he continued to sing into his makeshift microphone, he pulled a bent leg split and hopped up on his feet. However, as he did so, he stubbed his toe on the leg of the coffee table, cursing loudly in the process.

Molly burst out laughing, throwing a couple of snorts in for good measure. Sherlock finally noticed his bride and his face turned a lovely shade of red.

"How-How long have you been sitting there?" he asked, trying to pull his shirt down.

"Longer than you'd like," she managed between breaths. "Bob Seger, eh? Were you just really bored?" She sat up as best she could.

"It was for a case!" he said while reaching for the stereo remote to turn the music off.

"You haven't had a case in days, try again." she said, crossing her arms on top of her stomach.

"An-an experiment," he said confidently.

"And what exactly were you experimenting? The effectiveness of sliding on wood floors?" she smirked. "Fess up darling, you watched Risky Business again." She held out her hand and waited for Sherlock to help her stand up. She grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him down towards her. "I knew it was a bad idea to get you into American movies," she said, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm going to go take a nap, you're welcome to join me."

Sherlock replaced the fire poker and ruffled his hair, fixing it from his dancing. Tugging the shirt back down, he turned around and followed Molly, eager to wrap himself around her with his hands resting over their child. Perhaps their little one would have Daddy's dance moves.


End file.
